


i'm at home in the clouds (and towering over your head)

by isthisenoughorcanwegohigher



Category: The Maze Runner Series - All Media Types
Genre: Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-14
Updated: 2020-12-14
Packaged: 2021-03-10 19:00:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,585
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28062066
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/isthisenoughorcanwegohigher/pseuds/isthisenoughorcanwegohigher
Summary: It's been almost a year since the first group of boys were sent up to the Glade. Between setting the Glade up to be something close to home and running the Maze, Newt and Minho have developed a relationship. Minho tells Newt everything, and together they've helped each other come to terms with everything going on.Or so Minho thinks. Because Newt is keeping a secret or two, and he's lost hope of ever finding a way out.
Relationships: Minho/Newt (Maze Runner)
Comments: 5
Kudos: 27
Collections: Maze Runner Secret Santa 2020





	i'm at home in the clouds (and towering over your head)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Littlecupofmocha](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Littlecupofmocha/gifts).



It had been months since the boys woke up in the Glade, with no memories, no idea where they were or what was happening, and no hope that someone was going to come save them. Months since they realized that they would have to save themselves, or die trying, which terrified and thrilled them in equal measure. All of them knew, at least, their names and that dying trying to find a way out of their prison--which Alby insisted they call their home--was a cause worth dying for.

That was George’s idea of it, at least. As long as they had a cause worth dying for, then they had a reason to fight. But it had been months, and despite a newfound relationship with Minho, Newt found that he was losing the will to fight for anything. Even with the consistently perfect weather and good food and good friends, he found it difficult to find happiness in anything.

Currently, Newt was trying to enjoy a nice day off from running the Maze by planting trees with Alby.

“Must be nice to be able to spend a day in the Glade ‘stead of the Maze,” Alby said, punctuating each word with a grunt as he broke ground for one of the saplings Frypan had requested, promising that alongside the forest the Creators had provided, an apple orchard would not only add a little more home-feel to the Glade, but the fruit would be wonderful for cooking with.

“Must be nice not having to risk your ass in the Maze every day and enjoy the peace of the Glade,” Newt countered, turning a withering glare on Alby. The latter held up his hands in a gesture of peace, grinning.

“We all have our jobs,” he said. “You’re one of the fastest, which makes you perfectly suited for being a Runner.” Alby paused, leaning his weight against his shovel. “Doesn’t hurt either that George doesn’t want to lose anyone else. Insisting that you get a break was pretty smart.”

“I suppose, right up until one of us dies in the Maze and we’re down a Runner. Then we’re buggered.”

“You’re not planning on dying in the Maze, are you?”

“No,” Newt snapped, though the question left him feeling defensive. He couldn’t quite place a finger on why, but he felt like Alby saw something that wasn’t quite there. He didn’t want to die, did he? No, he might be losing hope of ever escaping, but it wasn’t that bad. It couldn’t be. 

“Shouldn’t be a problem, then.” Alby went back to digging. He glanced up at Newt. “Why don’t you go see about helping Fry out with lunch? Must be close to that time.”

Newt responded with a sigh, setting his own shovel down and stretching. “Sounds good to me.”

  
  


Lunch in the Glade was its usual slightly somber affair. With the promise of more work before they could relax and the ever-present threat of the Maze looming over their heads, the days where lunch was enjoyed with laughter and shouting were few and far between for the boys. Newt, who had, for as long as he could now remember, had spent most of his afternoons inside the towering walls of the Maze, hoping to find a safe spot to sit and eat what little provisions the Runners were allowed to take into the Maze. Maybe Frypan was right about the apple orchard. Having fresh fruit out in the Maze would make a nice change from the sandwiches of whatever was left from dinner the previous night.

“You think today’s the day?” Frypan asked.

“What?” Newt looked at Frypan and realized that he’d missed a good portion of the conversation.

“Worried about your boyfriend?” Frypan smirked at Newt. “I was asking if you think they’ll find a way out today.”

“No,” Newt said. “To both. Minho can handle himself. And the Maze is massive. It might take years before we find a way out.” It was a practiced lie, one the Runners all told. The truth was, within the first few months of exploring the Maze, they’d realized there was no way out. They kept running the paths, kept searching, kept hoping--and kept building up hope for the rest of the Gladers, at George’s insistence. Killing hope was one of the worst things you could do, in George’s opinion. Newt thought otherwise, but kept it to himself. It wasn’t worth a night in the Slammer to argue with George. Or with Minho, who felt the same way, though he still hadn’t explained why.

“Well, if we’re going to spend years up here, I hope they at least send up someone who can cause trouble,” Frypan mused. “We could use a little trouble.”

“You keep wishing that,” Alby said, laughing. “The last thing we need is someone stirring the pot. We’ve created a good place here, and if we’re going to find a way out, we should try to keep it that way.”

“You sound like George.” To Frypan, it sounded almost like a compliment. But to Alby, who knew Newt better, it wasn’t a very good thing. Newt and George had had their share of disagreements, and Alby knew that getting on the wrong side of Newt could be dangerous, at least in the case of keeping your clothes with you when you got out of the showers. No one had seen Newt violent yet, but like they all were, there was little doubt in Alby’s mind that Newt had a dark side. Everyone did.

“Maybe I do,” Alby said. “Maybe I should. He can’t lead the Glade if he’s out in the Maze all day.”

“What, you gonna be his right hand? Second in command?” Newt questioned.

“Yeah, maybe. Why not?” Alby stood up with his empty plate in hand and tapped it with his fork. “Hey, everyone, ten minutes ‘til we get back to work!”

There was a mixture of annoyed and relieved muttering that met this declaration.

“Like George would approve of a second in command,” Newt muttered to himself, standing and making his way back to the kitchens.

“Hey, where are you going?” Alby called after him.

“To clean up,” Newt hollered back, not bothering to turn around. He needed some time alone, with water and soap and dishes, to collect his thoughts. He’d been here, like the rest of them, for almost a year now. Things were starting to become routine. But things were also still so chaotic. No one had any idea why they were here, where they were, or what they were supposed to do, exactly. And now that the Runners had mapped the entire Maze, and they still didn’t have a way out, it was clear that mapping the Maze had no bearing on their eventual escape from this place.

He hated it. Newt hated it here. Hated it so much, and he couldn’t tell Minho, because Minho was so hopeful. And loving. Newt loved Minho, and he could say it about as much as he could say the truth about anything else. Something Alby had said earlier started playing at the edge of Newt’s consciousness. No, Newt hadn’t planned on dying in the Maze, at least not without a way out. But if dying could be his way out…. Well, it would be a way out. And not a bad one, if he was honest with himself, and he was always honest with himself, because he was the only person he could be fully honest with. He felt a pang in his heart that made him think of Minho, but Minho would move on. Minho was good that way. He didn’t let things get him down.

Newt realized that his heart was racing now. Not with the adrenaline he was used to in the Maze, but with something else he thought he’d lost. Hope. It seemed twisted, to feel hopeful when he knew that no one else would have a way out, but he had one again. He had a way to leave. He was almost tempted to thank Alby, but he didn’t want to let on what he was thinking. No, he’d have to go about this very carefully. No one could find out, or he could lose this path, this way, forever.

  
  


Minho came out of the Maze alone that evening. The thoughts and planning for how to go about getting alone in the Maze to go through with his new-found plan had plagued Newt for the rest of the day, and he didn’t notice that Minho was alone and terrified until Alby pointed it out.

“What happened?” Alby asked a shaking Minho as he approached the pair sitting down for dinner.

“George got stung,” Minho announced, loud enough for all the Gladers to hear. “I had to leave him.”

“Shit, Minho.” Alby motioned for him to sit.

Minho did so, sinking into the spot next to Newt, grabbing Newt’s hand. “It was bad, Alby. Real bad. We didn’t realize how late it was getting.”

“Wasn’t your fault,” Newt said automatically, glancing up at his boyfriend. He knew that Minho would be blaming himself for losing George, if only for a few hours.

“Feels like it,” Minho responded. There was a haunted look in his eye. “Griever was after me, not him. He took the fall for me. Pushed me out of the way. Told me to find a way out of here, no matter the cost.”

“That doesn’t sound like George,” Alby said. “He wouldn’t want us sacrificing our people to find a way out of here.”

“Think he was just scared. Wanted me to make sure that this wouldn’t happen to anyone else.”

“We still aren’t going to be sacrificing anyone to make sure we get out,” Alby snapped. “Doesn’t matter what he said, I’m sorry, it doesn’t, George is gone now. Belongs to the Maze now. He doesn’t call the shots.”

“And who does?” Newt asked hotly, while Minho stared at Alby with a fury that was unusual for him. “You?”

“Maybe, yeah! We need someone to lead this place.”

“Who’s to say the same thing won’t happen to you?” Minho said sharply. “None of us are safe here!” This was said a little louder than he meant for it to be, and a few heads glanced in their direction.

“Whatever,” Alby said. “We have to do something now that George isn’t here. That starts with someone leading us in his place.” Alby stood up and strode over to where Gally and Frypan were eating, leaving Minho and Newt alone.

Minho let out a wordless sigh of frustration.

“Hey,” Newt said, twisting his hand caught in Minho’s grip and squeezing his fingers gently. “We’ll figure this out. It’s up to us now, we’re the most senior runners. We’ll find a way out, we’ll keep people safe.” The words felt dirty in his mouth, because even now, the idea, his plan, was churning away in the dark recesses of his head, adjusting the time table to allow people to grieve George before they had to grieve him, too. But Minho didn’t know, and his small smile in response was all Newt needed to make it through tomorrow.

“You always know just what to say,” Minho said. “You’re right. The two of us, we’ve got this. We’ll solve the Maze, save everyone.”

“Be heroes.”

“And then get out of here and find a nice house far away from everyone, but not in the woods or a big city. Maybe a nice little suburb, with a crazy neighbor to keep things interesting.”

“No woods would be a plus,” Newt agreed, feeling his heart twist in his chest.

“I feel better,” Minho declared. “Thanks, Newt.”

“Any time.”

Minho grinned and placed a kiss on Newt’s cheek, making him blush in the low light of the setting sun.

* * *

It had been nearly two weeks since George was lost to the Maze. Two weeks of working, and waiting, and wanting, and plotting. Two weeks, and Newt couldn’t wait a day longer. He was in equal measure desperate to follow through on his plan, to get out of here, and terrified that if he did wait any longer, he would lose his nerve and be stuck here with no way out except an idea he was afraid to follow through on. Two weeks, and Newt was ready. Confident that no one knew, and that no one would really miss him, except Minho, but he also still believed that Minho would move on.

The sun was already rising over the Glade when Newt, not partnered with anyone today--the odd one out today, as they all switched off being the odd one out since George--finally started his run into the Maze. He’d feigned forgetting something and turned back, hiding in the Map Room while Minho and the other Runners went out into the Maze. It was the only way he could ensure that they would be far enough away from him to not notice what he was up to.

“Okay,” he muttered to himself, just loud enough to hear over his shoes hitting the concrete floors of the Maze. “Just got to get deep enough for the ivy to go up to the top.” It would work, he knew, if he climbed high enough, didn’t get caught, and fell at the right angle. It would work, he knew, if he really wanted it to. If he was really ready to get out of here, to escape the Maze, the Glade, no matter how permanent in nature it might be.

His stomach twisting into knots, Newt could only hope that Minho would somehow find closure. A letter had seemed too final, somehow, and there was always the chance that someone might find it and come find him before he had a chance to at least try this. So there was nothing of him left in the Glade, and he believed it to be better that way, and the deeper into the Maze he ran, the more Newt understood why both George and Alby were of the belief that if you got lost here, you belonged here. For the first time since waking up in the Glade, Newt felt a sense of peace.

  
  


He’d lost track of time, and the sun was directly overhead, beating down on him and making it unbearably hot. Newt paused in the shade of a wall that was just tall enough to shield him from the light, and as he leaned against the cool stone, he noticed the ivy on the opposite wall. It went up all the way to the top, though how far up it was he could only guess. It would have to do. If it got any later, he would risk the other Runners finding him.

Newt took a deep breath, approached the wall at a bit of a jog, and jumped up into the ivy. He grabbed it in his fists and swung there for a moment, breathing quickly. His heart was racing now, like it knew somehow that it had minutes left to beat and was determined to get in as many beats as it could in that time.

Hand over hand, Newt climbed, slipping on occasion as his palms grew slick with sweat. He paused more than he wanted to just to calm down, and each time he looked down. The ground never seemed far enough away, and the top of the wall was never closer. But eventually he reached the top. Eventually he had nowhere else to climb. Eventually it came to an end, as he was about to, as everything would in its own time. He swung a leg over the top of the wall and sat on the top of the Maze for a long moment, staring out at the expanse of stone. For the first and only time, he appreciated its beauty. It really was magnificent.

For the first time, Newt felt comfortable here. Felt at home here, up in the sky, where he wished there might be some clouds, because that would be breathtaking, towering over everything else. He felt powerful here. He also felt scared, but more so, he felt ready. He took a deep breath, glanced around one more time, and then, with as much care as he could remember taking, Newt pushed himself off the edge of the wall.

* * *

It felt like everything was rushing up to him all at once, all at once, all at once, too quickly, too close, he was falling, he couldn’t stop falling, he was falling endlessly, and he couldn’t stop, couldn’t breathe….

Newt jerked upright and into awareness with a terrified gasp of panic. Unable to calm his erratic heart, he glanced around and slowly realized that he was in the Med-jack hut. He also wasn’t alone, but his concern right now was that, much to his distaste, he was alive.

“It didn’t work,” he said.

“No, it didn’t, you shank.” Ah. The person in the room with him was Minho. Of course.

“Minho….”

“What the hell were you thinking?” Minho demanded, moving out of the shadows and staring at Newt.

“I...what do you mean?” Newt asked.

“Don’t be like that. I saw you. You jumped off, Newt. You made that choice. Why?”

“I didn’t--”

“Stop!” Minho was shouting. He’d never raised his voice like that before. “Just talk to me, okay?” The plea broke Newt’s heart. Newt, who had believed so deeply that Minho would be okay, couldn’t understand why or when or how things had gone so not according to plan.

“It doesn’t matter,” Newt replied.

“It does matter,” Minho said. “If nothing else, it matters to me. I just want to help you. I--I love you, Newt, and I want to have you in my life for a very long time, no matter where it’s spent.”

Newt swallowed sharply. “Oh.”

“Yeah, oh. So why?”

“I just...I needed a way out.”

“And it had to be permanent?”

“I--I just--I lost hope, okay?” Newt said. “I gave up, I didn’t want to fight anymore. I needed to get out, and it made sense.”

Minho’s expression looked like a kicked puppy. He looked heartbroken. “Why didn’t you say anything? Newt, I could have helped you. I’m supposed to help you!”

“There was nothing you could have said to change my mind,” Newt replied sullenly. “I’m sorry, but--”

“And what if I’ve been feeling the same way?”

The question jerked Newt into a painful awareness of everything around him. His ears were buzzing and his heart, though it had ached for a long time beforehand, hurt anew. “What?”

“What if I’ve been feeling the same way?” Minho repeated the question.

“But...you’re so hopeful and upbeat all the time,” Newt countered. “You could never give up like that. It’s not who you are.”

“Yes,” Minho said. “Yeah, Newt, it is. Because I do feel the same way. We both know what we’re not telling the others, what we’re hiding. We both know everything about the Maze. We both know there’s no way out. We have to lie about that, every day, to our friends. To our family! And know that we’re all stuck here, and we’ll never have anything except this. It sucks, man, and I hate it. It’s awful. I don’t want to fight anymore, either, because there’s nothing to fight for, right?”

Newt barely refrained from nodding in agreement. He just watched as Minho spoke.

“I feel the same way,” Minho repeated. “I get it. I really do. But Newt, there is something to fight for.”

“What?” Newt whispered.

“Us,” Minho said simply. “Each other. Our friends out there, who are counting on us to find a way out of here, no matter how long it takes. Our families, whoever and wherever they may be, waiting for us to get out of here and find them again, even if we don’t remember them.”

“It hurts so much, though.”

“I know it does.” Minho sank to the ground next to Newt and took his hand. “I know it hurts. And I thought it was the worst hurt in the world.”

“What made you think different?”

“I watched you jump off that wall, Newt.”

And suddenly, everything Newt realized he’d been afraid of feeling crashed down on him like a tidal wave, pulling him into the water and drowning him in the waves of emotion. A shuddering sob overtook him, and he curled up in the cot and cried. Minho sat with him until the tears had passed.

“I’m sorry,” Newt whispered.

“I know.”

“I just want it to stop.”

“I know.”

“I’m sorry,” Newt said again.

“I know. We’ll get through this together, Newt. Just promise me one thing.”

“What?” Newt asked.

“Don’t do anything stupid again?”

In spite of everything, Newt laughed softly. “I promise,” he said. “No more stunts like that.”

“Thank you,” Minho said. He was very quiet for a moment, considering his next words. “I really do love you, Newt.”

And Newt found that, with Minho by his side, he was no longer afraid. They may be trapped here for the rest of their lives, but after everything, Newt understood, and he was no longer afraid. “I love you, too.”

And maybe, just maybe, Newt thought, as Minho leaned in and kissed him gently, there was still beauty to be found here. Still hope to be had. Minho, after all, had yet to be wrong.


End file.
